


A Night at Home

by SuperWhoLock94



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Teachers, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Gen, I Can Dig Elvis, I Love Elvis, I Tried, Inner Dialogue, M/M, Mentions of Elvis Presley Songs, Mild Smut, Romantic Fluff, Sex is mentioned, Weight Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-02
Updated: 2019-02-02
Packaged: 2019-10-20 20:21:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,185
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17629025
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SuperWhoLock94/pseuds/SuperWhoLock94
Summary: You get home after a long day of work and Dean is there to show you how much you are loved.





	A Night at Home

**Author's Note:**

> Please let me know what you think and I hope you enjoy it!

Today was another long day of teaching. It's a week before the holiday break. You woke up to a warm, bright day and a majority of the other teachers had already given up. You hadn’t, trying to push the kids into finishing their projects before everyone left for the three months in between. And to top off the wonderful day, two kids called you out on a weight problem. You longed for the feeling of your bed, silk sheets, and laying by-

 

A horn honks and you feel foolish. Sitting at the green light a moment too long, you press the gas and it jolts alive. You space out again as you turn down that familiar road that splits at the end, one a black top and the other a gravel road. You turn to the gravel where your safe haven sits. Relief floods your body as you park. Feeling the gravel underneath your shoes pulls you back to reality. It’s a welcomed sound, the scratching and chipping as you make your way into the house. Parked by the house is the best sign. A black shiny car with bits of dust covering the base. The Impala, filled with so many memories and firsts. First night out, first kiss, first… The stairs creak with your weight on them but hold sturdy.

 

A figure is whistling as they greet you at the door but you can’t make out the face. You know that figure so damn _well_ though. The form is strong, toned and muscular but not in an obnoxious way. It could lift large things, even you. _“Don’t linger on that, don’t ruin this,”_ you think. Seeing it is all you need to push yourself up the last stair. The screen door whines when you open it due to the humidity that late May brings with it.

 

“ _Dean…”_

He welcomes you with open arms which you promptly fall into and relax for what feels like the first time all day. The smell of whiskey, car oil, and camp smoke hit you. A long, jagged breath breaks the silence. He kisses the top of your head, a small chuckle escaping his lips.

 

“I take it was a long day with the kids?”

 

“You have _no_ idea.” You roll your eyes as you right yourself up and walk through the threshold, past Dean, to throw your messenger bag on the couch. It lands with a soft thud; a reminder of the work you need to finish grading. You rub your face hoping that when you open your eyes, the papers will be gone. No dice.

 

The sudden feeling of being watched comes over you. Green eyes- correction, emerald green flecked with gold and bronze meet your own. An abrupt awareness that you don’t even compare to your partner washes over you. A forced smile comes over your face and Dean makes his way to you. In two quick strides, he is there grabbing your wrists and pulling them up to his face where he lays light kisses so soft, you almost wonder if they were real.

 

“You’re beautiful when you’re flustered.”

 

“Stop saying stuff like that.”

 

“But it’s true. I promise,” he looks up through his eyelashes while trailing the kisses up your forearm now.

 

“I- I'm gonna go shower. When will dinner be ready?” You turn around heading down the hallway.

 

“Soon, sweetheart. I made our favorite, burgers & tater-tots with a special dessert.” The thought of it makes you stop dead in your tracks. Closing your eyes, you hope for one word and one word only.

 

“Pie,” he breathes swiftly closing the small distance between you.

 

All of a sudden, you realize just how hungry you are.

***

Dinner is delicious as usual. The parts you ate, anyway. You could feel him staring at you and you dare not meet his eyes. He’s watching you push the remainder of your pie around, picking at it like it was the worst thing to exist in the room. But it isn't.

 

“Sweetheart, look at me,” with pleading in his voice. You haven’t talked or looked at him since getting out of the shower.

 

“I’m just tired, that’s all. I’m fine, it’s fine, everything’s fine.” He’s not the only one you are trying to persuade. “I’m gonna go lie down. Can you clean up dinner?” This time, you look up enough to see his head nod. The safety and reassurance of your bed are beckoning for you. A bed doesn't judge the measurement of your waistline.

 

When entering the bedroom, you shimmy your pants off out of habit but today- today, something is different. You pull your pajamas pants back up while pulling your t-shirt down. You look down at the Led Zeppelin shirt. It's  _his_ shirt, one that you have worn for years and yet it still fits. It brakes all laws of nature that you two should fit into the same shirt. The record player sitting in the corner catches your eye. The familiar blue background and floral pattern beckon you forward. Without hesitating, you put the needle onto the record and turn it on. Scratches fill the small room at first but then a melodic guitar comes over and makes you close your eyes, taking it in.

 

“ _Wise men say, only fools rush in...”,_ tears are starting to swell and you tell yourself that it’s fine, no need to cry.

 

“ _But I can’t help falling in love with you…”_ , one tear rolls over. That’s all you will allow yourself. It’s silly to be this upset over something kids say. It’s stupid. You are a grown adult, with a wonderful life and a beautiful, handsome, gorg- you rip your eyes open with an awful realization.

 

It's so easy to compliment him but all you can do is think, _I don’t deserve him._

But, for some reason, he’s here and not gagging when he kisses you or running away when you take your clothes off.

 

Footsteps break your trance as another song on the record starts to play. You grab the nearest book and climb into bed, quick to make sure that no more tears have escaped. Opening to your bookmark, you face the wall and can’t see him when he walks in.

 

“I’m surprised you're still up.”

 

“I can’t get comfortable so I’m reading instead.”

 

Dean sits down on his side. You don’t look over, afraid to see his expression. He continues taking off his watch and necklace. He lays them on the bedside table and lifts the sheets to get into bed. But he furrows his brow noticing that you are wearing pants when he was, in fact, not. You can tell he wants to ask but grateful when he doesn't. He continues climbing into bed, putting his hand on your side. You flinch at the touch and his arm stops, his body tensing and eyes flitting to you.

 

“Did I hurt you?” actual unease in his voice. He sounded like how velvet felt. Smooth yet rough when rubbed the wrong way.

 

“No, no. I just- wasn’t expecting it.”

 

His eyebrow raises like asking for an explanation but you pretend to not see it. Slowly, his hand comes back down on your waist, carefully exploring towards your hip.

 

“What are you reading?” he hummed.

 

“Harry Potter and Sorcerer’s Stone,” a short and stern reply. It was on the front of the book, after all. 

 

“Why?”

 

Knowing that he wasn’t going to stop asking questions, you give an answer that can’t leave any questions.

 

“Because I like the complexity of the story and the characters. How they develop over time is so… enthralling. I love the series, it’s my favorite. I can escape when my tho-.” You stop yourself. It would be too much and you don’t want to go down that road. Waiting for another question is like standing on pins.

 

He looks at you in confusion, then shakes his head and laughs. A muttered “you’re such a nerd” is barely audible over the music coming from the record player, now letting the last song trail off. You release the breath that you didn’t know you were holding. The crickets outside hum and mix with the breeze that causes the trees outside the bedroom window to shake. There is no other sound like it.

 

You go back to your book, but a face interrupts you. Again.

 

“Can I help you?” The snap of your tone surprises him and he leans back. He raises his hands as if innocent. “You piqued my interest. Is there anything wrong with that, sugar?” A smile makes the edges of Dean's mouth curl, pulling those soft pink lips back exposing his pearly white teeth.

 

“No, I guess not.” You roll your body over so he can see the book pages as well. Soon, you feel a familiar gaze on you again, not the book.

 

“Actually, I’m not much of a reader,” you prop yourself back up to lean against the wall to look at him as he continues, “but I am interested. Can you read it to me?” By now, his head is laying comfortably on your thighs, a built-in pillow.

 

“But I’m already on chapter three,” you whisper as you become acutely aware of your chin. _Chins_. 

 

He laughs softly, eyes closed, “give me a quick summary.” He begins to play with the hem of your shirt as you feel tingling wherever his fingers trace your skin.

 

“Fi-fine.”

 

He continues to play with your shirt and then a piece of hair makes its way out of a bobby-pin. He instinctively pushes the piece of hair back behind your ear, lingering a little too long on your face.  Chills run through you as he brushes your hardly visible collarbone. After a short summary, you start:

 

_“The escape of the Brazilian boa constrictor earned Harry his longest-ever punishment. By the time he was allowed out of his cupboard again, the summer holidays have started and Dudley has already broken his new video camera, crashed his remote control airplane, and his first time out on his racing bike, knocked down old Mrs. Figg as she crossed Privet Drive on her crutches.”_

Dean lifts the bottom of your shirt and rubs his hand across your ribs, watching as you read. He smiles and nods for you to continue. This time is a little more difficult.

 

_“Harry was glad school was over, but there was no escaping Dudley’s gang, who visited the house every single day. Piers, Dennis, Malcolm, and Gordon were all big and stupid, but as Dudley was the biggest and stupidest of the lot, he was the leader. The rest of them were all quite happy to join in Dudley’s favorite sport: Harry Hunting._

Goosebumps raise as he teases the hemline of your pajama pants.

_This was why Harry spent as much time as possible out of the house, wandering around and thinking about the end of the holidays, where he could see a tiny ray of hope. When September came he would be going off to secondary school and, for the first time in his life, he wouldn’t be with Dudley. Dudley had been accepted at Uncle Vernon’s old private school, Smeltings. Piers Polkiss was going there too. Harry, on the other hand, was going to Stonewall High, the local public school. Dudley thought this was very funny.”_

An outburst of laughter comes from behind the book. You move it slightly to see Dean in a fit of deep, soft giggles. Once he's calm enough, he notices you looking at him. His eyebrow raises again, this time he is studying you. A ping of guilt floods you even though you were smiling at him. You know he saw it.

 

“I thought it was funny. Dudley _is_ pretty funny. I guess I can relate to him because of the way I was with Sammy.” A small giggle escapes him again. He nods and twirls the soft, cotton fabric of your- his shirt around his pointed finger. You turn your attention back to the book.

 

_“They stuff people’s heads down the toilet the first day of Stonewall,” he told Harry. “Want to come upstairs and practice?”_

_“No, thanks,” said Harry. “The poor toilet’s never had anything as horrible as your head down it- it might be sick.” Then he ran before Dudley could work out what he’d said._

_One day in July, Aunt Petunia took Dudley to London to buy his Smeltings uniform, leaving Harry at Mrs. Figg’s. Mrs. Figg wasn’t as bad as usual. It turned out she’d broken her leg tripping over one of her cats, 24 and she didn’t seem quite as fond of them as before. She let Harry watch television and gave him a bit of chocolate cake that tasted as though she’d had it for several years._

Dean makes a disgusted face at the idea of expired chocolate cake. You continue after having to pull your eyes away from his.

 

_That evening, Dudley paraded around the living room for the family in his brand new uniform. Smeltings’ boys wore maroon tailcoats, orange knickerbockers, and flat straw hats called boaters. They also carried knobby sticks, used for hitting each other while the teachers weren’t looking. This was supposed to be good training for later life._

Dean giggles again, like a child getting caught doing something bad. You feel like there is a story that he hasn’t shared with you. Another time, maybe.

 

You go to flip the page and a hand grabs yours. Looking over the book, he is watching you carefully. His eyes are crinkled on the sides from the grin you can't quite see. Again, you try to turn the page but before you can, his other hand entwines fingers with yours. You try to shake the butterflies that have suddenly set themselves free in your stomach. “ _No, no, no. He deserves someone better, someone that doesn’t look like me. Someone that….”_ The thought is interrupted.

“What are you thinking about so hard?”

 

Words fail to come out and your mouth is left apart. He thumbs over your bottom lip, leaving it quiver as weird emotions start hitting you from all sides. Tears start to swell again.

 

“No!”

 

You leap out of the bed, kicking him in the process. A quick grunt is leaked from Dean as he flips over. You stand with your head in your hands, trying to control the feelings that are clawing and itching their way up. You can’t stand it. You can’t stand the fact that someone who looks _him_ could want someone that looks like _you._

 

“Sweetheart?”

 

_No, don’t use that tone. Don’t sound so hurt._

“What's wrong?”

 

_I wish I could put into words what is wrong with me._

“You’ve been upset by something since the moment you got home…” A moment of silence before, “was it something I did?”

 

There, right there. Everything comes crashing down, guilt and anger rising above all. It's never his fault. He does everything so right that it could never be his fault. And you are angry that he could ever think that about himself.

 

You try to be strong but, “no, it was never you…” comes out so weak. A whisper was the only thing you can muster.

 

Dean gets off the bed, brushing past the book now laying on the floor. His arms wrap around your waist, trying to bring you closer to him but you push and writhe your way from him. You fall to the floor, knees buckling under the truth that is trying to claw its way out, with the needle skipping on the record as emphasis.

 

“You deserve someone so much better than me.” It breaks out of you, but only at a whisper. The words linger in the air as thick as the humidity. Dean lets a small breath escape, the only noise in the room.

 

“I only _want_ you,” his voice is deep and powerful. Shame is now the only thing you feel.

 

“Want or not, I am not what you need nor deserve. There are so many better people out there, Dean. Ones that don’t make you look like you are entertaining me out of pity.”

 

He grows quiet, too quiet.

 

“You think that I’m with you out of pity?!” His last word drip with rage. He is furious and you know it. There is no changing what happens now. You nod slowly, the only action you can manage.

 

Hands wiggle their way under your arms, lifting you up like a toddler who got caught doing something bad. Strong hands riddled with calluses smooth over your face that magically turn soft in the process. You can’t bring yourself to lift your head up. His touch is much more gentle than what his voice led you to believe. A thumb and finger are on your chin, pushing your head up.

 

“Look at me. Please.” The voice was soft but urgent. You don't budge. “Look at me,” he snarls. Your eyes immediately flit to his. As you go to open your mouth to speak, his lips are on yours and now he has you by the back of your neck pressing into you. A deep breath escapes you as he parts. “I want this, I want us. I want you to come home and relax with me, be with me and-“ a beat, “make love to me.” He sounds almost vulnerable. “But most of all, I want you to love yourself as much as I love you. You have no idea how crazy you make me.” Another deep and long kiss meets your lips. He breaks apart, leaning his forehead against your own.

 

“Bu-,” another kiss.

 

“Dea-,” another kiss.

 

“How can I-,” this one was harder, longer.

 

“Would you stop?!” You practically yell at him but that only teases him more. He moves to your neck, kissing every inch of skin that he can reach.

 

“Dean, I’m serious.”

 

“So am I.” It was so matter-of-fact. You press your hands against his chest, and he pauses but only for a moment. He goes back to trailing kisses but this time to your arms and wrists  

 

“But you are so... perfect, handsome, and good. I'm not any of those things. You deserve someone who doesn't look like a troll when they wake up. All I am is 80% self-hatred and 20% sarcasm. I have nothing to give you. I'm nothing.” You hang your head, finally managing to express the thoughts you try so hard to keep in.

 

Silence.

 

He lets a deep sigh escape, and then he is pulling you onto the bed with him as he pulls you into his lap. You try and wiggle your way off but his vice grip holds you there. "Let me off, I don’t want to hurt you.”

 

He grabs your jaw and turns your head to look at him. His eyes are dark and face is stone. “You aren’t going to hurt me. The only way you are hurting me is by saying those awful things about yourself.” A new wave of self-loathing washes over as tears fall from your eyes.

 

“You are _so_ much more than that. You make those kids excited to learn. You pour your heart and energy into making lessons that they want to do. You are constantly giving, making sure that your kids are being taken care of. And they are just that, your _kids._ Not students, you look at them like they're your own. Every weekend, you work with the golf kids, the theater, and Key Club. You are constantly there. Hell, I feel like you are in more of a relationship with the school than with me sometimes.” A breathy laugh greets your ears.

 

He continues, “let’s be honest, your taste in music and cars is what attracted me to you in the first place. And not only that but you are gorgeous. Your smile lights up any room you walk in; eyes that sparkle any time you talk about something you love. You make me laugh like no other and I can be myself. There is never an ounce of judgment from you about anyone, except yourself. I get that you are hard on yourself but I can’t sit by and watch you do this to yourself. I can’t…” at that, Dean’s voice breaks.

 

“I’ll try, I am trying. I have you to show me that. I love you. But I can’t help but compare our bodies. You look like a damn god!” You lightly smack his shoulder. “Those eyes and that mouth of yours. The sinful things it does. The way your freckles cover your face when you get too much sun. Your arms that hold me, love me and comfort me. I don’t even compare to-,” waving towards him, “you.”

 

Dean looks up to meet your eyes. But it isn't the same. His emerald, bright green color was gone. His pupils were blown wide with lust, the color around them going dark but still a beautiful shade of forest green.

 

“Let me show you just how attractive I think you are.” The look in his eyes is wild and crazy. It sends a shiver down your spine.

 

His mouth is back to yours. His hands are more earnest this time as they grab your hips. He slips his tongue against your lips, wanting access. You crack them apart and that’s all it takes. Dean’s tongue moves against yours, a smooth and well-known dance. He suckles at your bottom lip, gently biting it. You moan and the vibration makes Dean grab you harder, trying to pull you closer.

 

Breathless you ask, “how does this prove anything to me?”

 

No answer.

 

“Dean, I’m serious. How do I know that you aren’t forcing yourself to do this? To prove something to me?” Doubt starts to rise within you again changing to panic,  soaking into the last few words of the question.

 

“Okay, that’s it.”

 

Dean pushes you onto the bed as you hang your head low with the realization that you did it. You drove a wedge in-between you and Dean that may never be removed. You rest your head in your hands, eyes closed, trying to drown out the sound of Dean rummaging through his stuff. Probably packing. _You fucked up this time and there is no going back._

 

Dean is there though in an instant, kneeling in front of you. He quietly grabs  your wrists and pulls them forward so you can see his face. There are tears in his eyes now, daring to brim over.  _Shit._

 

“Do you really think I don’t love you? Because I knew from this moment. This moment, right here. I never wanted to leave your side and here's the proof.”

 

He holds up a piece of paper, a small receipt covered in messy but uniform handwriting that could only be Dean’s:

 

_THIS MOMENT IS WHEN I KNEW_

_I HAD FINALLY FOUND “THE ONE”._

_LOVES BURGERS, WHISKEY, AND BEER,_

_PIE FOR DESSERT_

_DRIVES A KNUCKLEHEAD HARLEY_

_I’M DONE FOR._

_~~03-03-09--~~ _

_03-04-09 OOPS_

For what felt like the thousandth time that day, tears began streaming down your face but you don't care. There was proof that he loves you. It was written in old, faded blue ink. When you flip it over, you see the receipt from your first official date.

 

“Dean…,” now you were sobbing. _Smooth,_ you thought.

 

His arms wrap around your shoulders and bring you closer to him with the thin paper still clasped in your tear-streaked hands.

 

“I wasn’t kidding when I said I loved you, forever and always.”

 

More sobs.

 

“Where did this come from?”

 

The sobs started to slow into small gasps.

 

“Babe." You hold up a finger to give yourself a second to collect your thoughts.

 

“Just been doing a lot of thinking and then two students said a few choice things to me that got to me. It just wasn’t a good day and I always feel like you are picking up my messes. I’m never good to you.”

 

Anger is the first emotion to appear on Dean's face, but as soon as it appears, it’s gone. A look of realization settles into Dean’s face, lines forming between his brows as he starts chewing on his lip.

 

“One: I hate those kids and they are lucky they are under eighteen or so help them. And two: you don’t get it. You have done so much good for me that I don’t know where to begin! Because of you, I know I’m loved. Because of you, I got my own business. Because of you, _we_ got Sammy through college. Because of you, I actually love my life and who I’m sharing it with. Because of you, I can get up in the morning. Don’t you ever think for a second that I regret us because that would and will never, ever happen.”

 

You gain the nerve to look at Dean’s face. His words are genuine, you can see it in his eyes. Coming from the person who once told you, “I don’t do chick flick moments,” and “no hooey gooey crap,” this is real. He is real. Your mouth curves into a smile as you take in his face.

 

“Okay.”

 

He smiles again, “okay.” His hands move up to your back with the other on your hip.

 

“Kiss me.”

 

You hesitate.

 

 _“Kiss me,”_ Dean growls at you. You lean in and press your lips to his. Gentle at first but Dean presses harder, wanting more. He pushes you against the bed and you don’t protest. You wiggle yourself to the middle and Dean straddles on top of you. Dean continues to explore the nape of your neck and jawline. Soft kisses leave warm spots as he kisses down to your chest. He stops abruptly.

 

“Can I show you?”

 

“Show me what?”

 

“How much I love you.” The words bring a smile to your face as you nod. Your breath catches in your throat as Dean slips his hand under your shirt. He kisses down your chest again, barely there feeling through the thin cotton shirt. Laying his head on your stomach, breathing heavily, he mutters something against the shirt.

 

“Wh-what?”

 

“I said, you are wearing my t-shirt.”

 

Warmth and a blush begin to work its way up to your neck and cover your cheeks.

 

“So what if I am?”

 

This time, the soft smile turns mischievous. Almost animalistic. His left eyebrow raises.

 

“Because it makes you completely irresistible.” Then he is there in front of you, so close you can feel his breath. You smell the cinnamon and apple lingering with a slight tinge of whiskey. As he bends down to kiss you, something rubs against your thigh. You situate yourself, accidentally brushing up against the hardened part of Dean.

 

“Oh, _god...”_ It was rushed and breathless.

 

In one swift movement, you push him over to his back and straddle him in return. You can feel his package bump against you. It’s pressing, getting tight under his boxers. You push down harder, grinding against it.

 

“Mmmm…” Another moan escapes Dean as his hands dig deeper into your hips.

 

You press again, feeling him react as he bites his bottom lip. There is no way that he could be getting _bigger._

 

You continue to move your hips back and forth, your breathing starting to quicken. Leaning down, you press your foreheads together, he pushes against you as the motions get more rapid and less rhythmic.

 

“Oh, Dean…”

 

His eyes snap open; he moves immediately to roll you over.

 

“It’s my turn now.” The wicked grin is back on his face. His eyes are dark and glinting with lust. His voice is rough and sends your head back as you hum of satisfaction. He shifts your whole body to lay back and in one fluid motion, your shirt is gone.

 

“I love it on you but it looks better on the floor.”

 

You bring yourself up to lean on your elbows, keeping your face less than an inch away from his. “I think yours should join it.”

 

It's all he needs.

 

***

Dean rolls off of you, breathless with sweat beading at his hairline. Your breathing is rough and ragged as you try to bring your heartbeat down. It’s a struggle and you chuckle.

 

“I believe you.” You were happy, euphoric even. But tears were still making their way into your eyes. Dean rolls back towards you and leans his head on his propped up hand. His other hand brushes the tears that seem to run.

 

“Then why are you crying?” There was real concern in his voice with a questioning look, making his eyebrow crinkle.

 

“I’m just- this gonna sound so stupid.”

 

“What is?”

 

You take a deep breath, ready to spill your thoughts out, “I’m just so relieved and happy and loved. You have no idea...” The words trail off. Dean wraps his arms around you, pulling you to fit perfectly against his stomach. He kisses your neck and makes his way to your cheek. It sends a shiver down your spine as his late five o’clock grazes your ear. He chuckles into your shoulder.

 

“I told you I do. And nothing will ever change that.” Suddenly, his arms unwrap from around you. You fake a frown at him and he gets up to go dig in his dresser drawer. Whatever he pulls out, he stares at for a second or two longer as he hangs his head a little lower. A deep breath goes in and is pushed out through his nose making his shoulders come down hard.

 

“Close your eyes.” It is obeyed without question.

 

His footsteps are heard as he takes one, two, three, four steps to you. Butterflies creep their way into your stomach and try to escape. At an attempt to contain your anxiety, you ask “what kinky shit are you into now?”

 

“Alright, open your eyes.”

 

Opening your eyes, a gasp passes your lips, shock changing your face and goosebumps cover your naked body. You sit bolt right up. There, in front of you, “an engagement ring?!” You practically scream it.

 

“If you want to. Why wait? I was going to do some romantic shit but this, this moment is real and I don’t want to waste it. It’s you, it’s always been you.”

 

You sit there frozen.

 

“Sweetheart, please don’t stay quiet. I’m asking a pretty big question here.” Dean reaches up to rub his neck, obviously nervous.

 

Again, you sit there.

 

“Oh, god. I did it wrong. Shit, shit, _shit._ ” He was starting to panic, getting up from one knee.

 

You grab his wrist and look him straight in the eyes and answer the most powerful way possible. You close the gap between you, meeting his lips to yours. Reaching for the back of his neck, you pack as much emotion and emphasis into it. A full laugh escapes him as you pull back. “Is that a yes, then?” His grin was gorgeous and his eyes were truly happy.

 

You roll your eyes as he slips the ring onto your ring finger, fitting perfectly.

 


End file.
